


The Trials of Tomas Ortega

by cinelitchick



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cameos, Crucifixion, Demonic Possession, ExoWriMo, Exorcisms, Fights, Gen, Horror, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinelitchick/pseuds/cinelitchick
Summary: The Figure has taken an interest in Father Tomas Ortega. It has decided to put him through a series of tests to see if he lives up to the hype. Meanwhile: though Marcus Keane is by Tomas' side, it was not a place he rightfully nor easily assumed when he returned following the events of season two; Mouse has taken care of Tomas and has his back in the aftermath of Marcus' leaving; Bennett is still MIA, but for how long?; and an exorcism is not as clear cut as it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written during ExoWriMo in February. I never dreamed the little germ of an idea I came up with before falling asleep one night in order to participate in the challenge would become the beast that you are now reading. 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to my bestie and my Exorcist Congregation cheerleaders for their love and support during this process. You truly have no idea how much you guys mean to me. Seriously.

_"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."_

_— 1 Corinthians 13:4-8_

 

 

 

The air was cold within the room. His lungs momentarily froze as he inhaled; his breath visible every time he let it out. The room was dimly lit by the flames of a low fire in the hearth. Shadows loomed large within the sparsely furnished space, from its hardwood floor to its tall ceiling. He felt as if Miss Haversham would appear by his side at any moment.

He felt quite small as he tried to get a better look at his surroundings. There was no sound to be heard outside his footsteps and the crackle of the fire. He had no flashlight or other light source on his person, so he could not investigate the room as much as he would like.

There was an ornate chair with polished, dark wooden arms; its back and seat covered in a floral-patterned felt to the left of the hearth. A similarly designed loveseat was positioned directly opposite the grate. He walked a few steps to the right of the loveseat until the light dissipated. The fire really only lit the immediate area that included the chair and loveseat. He was starting to feel the chill seep into his bones; his hands were so cold. He knelt in front of the flames, which did not help as much as he would have liked.

His back stiffened. Someone or something else had entered the room. He stood and turned, seeing nothing in the darkness beyond the seating area. _No_ , he thought. _There is another here._ He swallowed, gathering his courage. He realized something else was amiss. But what was it? His hands clenched into fists. _My Bible. I had it with me when I entered this space._ He knew this was true.

_Looking for this?_ A figure emerged from the black void into the circle of light holding the missing Bible.

Tomas Ortega held out his hand.

_I would like it back please._

The Figure smiled.

_No doubt. But let’s chat first. I have very much enjoyed getting to know the real you, Tomas. Please._ The Figure gestured to the loveseat as it sat down in the chair.

Tomas wanted to remain standing, but lowered himself onto the loveseat.

_Who are you? We have never met before now._

The Figure was still smiling.

_It doesn't matter who I am. I know who you are. Who you have the potential to be. That is far more important._

_I know who I am,_ Tomas responded _. I am God's vessel._

_True. However, I have been with you since before you arrived here. That is plenty of time to delve into your psyche and find out what makes you tick, man of the cloth._

Tomas watched The Figure’s face as it spoke, but its lips never moved. Neither did Tomas’.

_We are psychically linked._

The Figure nodded.

_For now._

Tomas wanted to stand up, but he physically could not.

_Oh, we are not done with each other. I insist you stay awhile, Tomas Ortega. Marcus Keane can wait._

Tomas felt a hand on one of his thighs, then a second hand on the other thigh. Now there was one on his chest — no! There were three, now four hands on his chest. More had latched themselves to his forehead, his legs, his arms. In spite of the now-frigid chill that had enveloped the room, he was sweating profusely. His heart was beating so hard, he thought it would burst within his chest. Tomas felt a scream building in his lungs, but before he could let it out he felt an arm snake down his throat.

His eyes wild, the last thing he remembered seeing was the cold, satisfied smile that formed on The Figure’s lips.

 

 

Marcus Keane was jolted out of his sleep by the sound of someone choking. The motel room was pitch black. He was not completely awake and could not be fully sure if he actually had heard something. He rolled over onto his back and waited. A few seconds later, the choking sound again only louder.

“Tomas.” Marcus threw back the blanket and sheet, and tore out of his bed and over to his friend, turning on the lamp on the night table between the beds.

Tomas’ eyes were wide open. His head and neck convulsing on the pillow as if something was deeply lodged in his throat.

Marcus rolled Tomas over on to the man’s right side, positioned himself and slammed his hand repeatedly on Tomas’ back, hoping to dislodge whatever had become stuck in his throat.

“Marcus.” The voice was weak.

“Tomas?”

Tomas put up his hand to make the beating stop. He took a couple of deep breaths, blinking a few times to wake up. He slowly moved till he was sitting on the side of the bed near the light. He took a few more breaths before looking at his friend and his friend’s very worried face.

In truth, Marcus was very pale. He was crouched beside Tomas, hand on the younger man’s knee.

“Are you right?”

Tomas gave a small smile and nodded.

“I am alright, my friend.”

“You scared the _shit_ out of me. What the bloody hell was that?! And don’t tell me nothing because I’ll know you’re _fucking_ lying.”

Marcus was scared.

So was Tomas.

That was not a dream Tomas had.

It was not a nightmare.

It happened.

He willingly went into battle with the demon that had been with a possessed mother of two from a small town outside Hartford, Connecticut. The old house. The dark living room with the small fire burning. The loveseat. The telepathic figure. That scene was seared into his memory, forever a reminder what evil was out there.

Tomas was not strong enough to fight that demon. He was amazed he was still alive, but he knew he should not be. He also knew Marcus would traverse Hell itself in order to bring Tomas back. The feeling was mutual. But now the room felt claustrophobic. His anxiety levels were beginning to rise. He needed to be elsewhere.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I … I … I need some air.” He got up, walked over to his bag and got dressed.

Marcus watched Tomas as he put on pair of jeans, zipped up a hoodie, tied his boots, grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

This wasn’t like Tomas. He always talked with Marcus, sought his council when his power seemed too strong. After their initial growing pains with Tomas’ particular set of skills, they had agreed to total transparency in their relationship. It was the only way if they wanted their partnership — not to mention their relationship — to move forward.

Marcus knew this had to do with Connecticut. After the exorcism was finished, he threw Tomas into the backseat of the SUV they were currently using and hauled ass out of the Constitution State. Tomas had been unconscious since the connection with the demon had been made two days ago. He had not made a sound until now.

“Well at least he’s talking to me,” Marcus said drolly.

 

 

Tomas now was sitting unencumbered on the loveseat inside the dark living room. The flames within the hearth had grown; more logs had been added. The Figure stoked the fire with a poker before replacing it in the rack that stood off to the side of the chair and taking its seat.

_Now where were we?_

Tomas didn’t reply.

_Let’s start with something that fascinates me. You consider yourself a man of the cloth; a devout servant of the Lord your God and yet …._ The figure paused, tilting its head while it studied its guest.

Tomas’ pulse quickened; his breath caught in his throat. He knew what The Figure was going to say. Psychic link be damned. He did not consider it a sin. He knew it was true. He did not regret it. It made him stronger. It made him keep fighting. It made him whole.

The Figure held its gaze with the man of faith across from it. It was truly taken with its subject as if he was a puzzle that it could not quite figure out how to solve. Finally, after several minutes of silence, it spoke.

_I wonder …._

 

 

Tomas walked out of the motel room to a picnic table located on the grassy area on the other side of the parking lot. It was late: three, maybe four o’clock in the morning. The air was crisp, as was its lot in late November. He climbed on top of the table and sat down. A cool light emitted from the lamps that lit the motel lot.

He sat on the table for a couple of minutes hugging himself and letting the cool air fill his lungs before letting it out. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the bristly hairs in his mustache and beard. He needed a shave. A shower. At least three days’ sleep. Food would probably be good, but he didn’t have the stomach for it. Not now, at least.

His meeting with The Figure continued to haunt him. He replayed their time together in his head. He could still feel the hands all over his body; the arm in his throat.

His throat.

It burned every time he swallowed. His lungs felt raw. He could feel every psychic wound inflicted.

It all seemed so real.

It _was_ real.

There were so many scars.

No one would ever see them.

But he could feel them.

Tomas could feel the tears threatening to break out. He tried to blink them away. He took another deep breath, letting the air scorch his lungs. He held it. He held it as long as possible. When he finally let it out, he didn’t breathe it out.

He roared.


	2. Chapter 2

Tomas was standing in an open field wearing his everyday priest uniform: black slacks, white dress shirt, black shirt front, black sport coat and the collar. The day was overcast, but mild. He could hear chanting in the distance, but was not sure in what direction.

“Hello!” he shouted.

The chanting continued, but Tomas could now make out it was coming from up ahead. He walked for about a quarter-mile before coming upon a group of people. As he got closer, he realized they were not chanting. They were performing an exorcism ritual. The group was not just any group: Father Devon Bennett, Mouse and Marcus were all there. They were doing their damnedest to save someone who had been possessed.

Tomas could not see who it was, but thought it must be Elisa Carroll, the mother of two whose husband had sought out their help. Tomas kept moving closer to his friends. However, with each step he took, he felt a stabbing pain. It was never in the same place twice. The closer he got to the gathering, the sharper the pain. He winced. He groaned. He kept moving. His face, chest, hands, arms … everything hurt. It was like he was being attacked.

He looked down at his hands only to see the flesh had been burned off in different places. He felt his face, reacting when he hit open wounds. When he pulled his hands away, there was blood on his fingers. He fell to his knees. He could see someone on the ground within the circle his friends formed. He staggered to his feet, forcing them to work. He gritted his teeth with every aggravating step until he was close enough to see Elisa on the ground.

Tomas opened his mouth to join in the ritual when he froze.

“YOU COCKSUCKERS WILL SEE YOUR ENTRAILS DEVOURED AND YOUR GENITALS SLOWLY RIPPED FROM YOU WHILE YOU ARE STILL ALIVE! HE WILL MAKE SURE YOU ARE NEVER REUNITED WITH YOUR BELOVED FUCKING CREATOR!”

The trio never stopped their recitation. The holy water flew at the prone figure on the ground. Determination etched in every single one of their faces.

“YOU! AGING HIPSTER BOY BAND FUCKER. YOU REALLY THINK I WANTED YOUR DECREPIT DICK PLUNGING INSIDE ME? YOUR KNARLED HANDS CARESSING MY BEAUTIFUL FLESH? YOUR WITHERED LIPS ON MINE? YOUR DRIED TONGUE INSIDE MY EVERY ORIFICE? YOU ARE DISGUSTING. WORSE. YOU ARE DELUSIONAL. YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED AWAY. LEAVING ME WAS THE BEST THING YOU EVER DID FOR ME.”

No one flinched. They kept doing their job.

Tomas, lying on the ground as he writhed and seethed, flinging obscenities and releasing tortured screams, saw something on one of their faces that gave him great joy.

Or at least it did the demon possessing him.

What he/it saw were the tears that lightly fell against Marcus’ cheeks.

From somewhere deep inside his body, that sight caused a piece of Tomas’ soul to die.

 

 

Marcus tore out of the motel room. He had just finished pulling on medium-wash blue jeans and a heather gray V-neck sweater over his head, and was tying his boot laces when he heard Tomas’ guttural cry. Marcus got to the picnic table just in time to have Tomas fall into his arms instead of hitting the ground like his leather jacket.

“I have you. I have you,” Marcus said softly into his ear, one hand on the back of Tomas’ neck while the other hand was on Tomas’ back. “You’re safe.”

Tomas tried to pull away, but Marcus held him tighter. Tomas did not put up much of a fight. He wrapped his arms around Marcus’ waist and back. The tears came immediately. Tomas sobbed into his friend’s shoulder, the weight of his experience finally breaking him.

They held each other for a long time. Marcus comforted his mate, while Tomas just let all the pent-up emotions flow out of him. No one from the motel nor any of the guests came out to investigate the unholy noise that erupted earlier. The two men were the only people in this corner of the world at this point in time.

Tomas eventually calmed down enough that his sobs softened to light tears. He thought of Marcus’ face in that — what would you call it? Vision? Nightmare? Test? Tomas did not know nor did he care. Whatever it was, that image made his heart seize. He clung to Marcus tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Marcus could not fathom why he was receiving an apology. This man had been through something horrific that he had no control over. It made Marcus ache in his very core to think this wonderful person had been so brutally assaulted. In fact, it made him angry. He pulled away from Tomas just enough so they were face-to-face.

“Don’t you dare apologize to me,” he told Tomas while squeezing the back of his neck just a little harder. “You did _nothing_ wrong. Whatever happened was _not_ your fault. Do you understand me?”

Tomas nodded.

“I am here for you — whatever you need. Confidante. Punching bag. _Anything_.”

Tomas stared into Marcus’ beautiful blue eyes for a moment, finding something that sparked a recharging inside himself. He put his hand on Marcus’ chest and touched his forehead to his friend’s.

Marcus placed his own hand over Tomas’.

“Thank you,” Tomas said, “for leaving me my boxers after you stripped my clothes off.”

Marcus laughed so hard his shoulders shook.

“It was the least I could do.”

The two men separated, collecting themselves. Marcus glanced at Tomas, who caught his eye with a small smile on his face.

“I need to tell you what happened,” the younger man said. “It’s bigger than me; otherwise ….”

Marcus nodded. He desperately wanted to know what Tomas had been through while at the same time wanted to know nothing as it would kill him to hear the details. But as Tomas had said, this was bigger than one person. Marcus feared just how big this would mean for the world at large. He grabbed his grabbed his jacket off the ground, pulled it on and zipped it up, then sat beside his fellow exorcist on top of the picnic table.

“Tell me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE WEEKS AGO**

As Marcus pulled into the driveway of the two-story Colonial with the three-car garage, he and Tomas exchanged a look. Each had observed the neighboring houses on either side of the property were rather close for comfort, but it was nothing they had not experienced before. It was still preferential to the urban environs from where they first met.

The front door of the house opened as each exited the late-model black SUV Marcus picked up after a particularly shrewd and potentially violent poker game near Yale University with a bunch of male undergrads whose egos were bigger than what hung between their legs.

Dr. Malcolm Carroll waited for them inside the doorway. He looked tired, nervous, borderline defeated in his khakis, pink dress shirt, dusty rose-colored tie, plumb pullover sweater and dark brown oxfords. He watched the two exorcists as they made their way to the front door.

He felt a sense of hope course through him when he spotted the dog collar on the priest. He also liked that both men of faith took him seriously when he told them about his wife, Elisa. He was flat-out relieved when they informed him, after running a battery of tests on her over an extended period, that the love of his life and mother to his children was possessed.

That sense of relief did not last. They informed him that an exorcism was neither a quick nor easy cure. There was no guarantee they could save Elisa even if they did dispatch the demon. They would do everything in their collective power to bring her back. They wouldn’t stop till it was over.

Malcolm greeted and shook hands with each man before allowing them to cross the threshold.

As the door closed behind them, Malcolm informed Marcus and Tomas as to where his wife was located. He had installed her in a guest bedroom at the back of the house on the first floor, just off the laundry room. He thought it might be easier under the circumstances.

She was bound as instructed — he was a master knots man from his days in the Navy, not to mention he had been an Eagle Scout — and added chains as an added precaution; he gave her a sedative he previously had prescribed before moving her from the couple’s bedroom upstairs.

The two windows — one on the left of the bed and the other facing the foot of the bed — had been protected by mattresses from the daughters’ rooms and hammered into place with beams of plywood added on top as an added protective measure the day before by Marcus and Tomas. They had removed the rest of the furniture and accessories in the guest room.

Tomas told Malcolm it would be best if he stayed away from that part of the house. Malcolm agreed. He had seen enough already. He did not know how much more he could handle.

The exorcists inquired about the whereabouts of the rest of the household. The two young girls had been sent to stay with Malcolm’s Aunt Gladys in Hartford. The dog, a Pomeranian named Cuddles, was outside in the large backyard that faced the woods.

Marcus and Tomas said a quick prayer outside the guest room door. Marcus in jeans, a heather gray V-neck sweater and boots. Tomas in his cleric’s uniform, Bible in one hand and crucifix in the other.  Marcus nodded, his way of asking Tomas if he was ready. Tomas nodded in reply. He was ready.

Marcus opened the door and took one step before ducking as something was hurled in his direction.

Tomas caught the object with both hands, dropping both the Bible and crucifix. It took him a couple of seconds to process what he was holding. The bloody matted fur was his first clue. He looked at the dog’s face and wished he had not: Its jaw had been ripped from its head and its eyes were missing.

“Someone looks like he needs some Cuddles!” a high-pitched voice cackled.

Marcus and Tomas looked up at the far right corner of the ceiling and found a white nightgown-wearing Elisa Carroll on all fours with her neck and head turned to such a degree that she was facing them. Blood covered her mouth. Her eyes were white, no iris or pupil to be seen. Her hands and feet gripped the walls and ceiling.

“Too bad Father Bennett and his little Mouse couldn’t join us. Is he still running with scissors? So dangerous. Hope he hasn’t cut off the little vermin’s head … but nevermind. I’m _much_ more into threesomes anyway!”

 

 

“Not happening.”

Marcus stared up at the night sky. There were not as many stars as he would have liked, but there were some. He took solace in them now while he processed what Tomas just told him. Marcus heard about the scene in the field with Bennett, Mouse and a possessed Tomas. He heard every last word the real Tomas said. His Tomas. His Tomas who wanted to explain why he felt the need to apologize earlier. His Tomas who wanted Marcus to accept his mea culpa. Marcus steadfastly refused, seeing how it had not actually happened.

“Por favor, mi amigo,” Tomas tried again to get his friend’s forgiveness. He had his hand on Marcus’ left shoulder blade, looking hopefully at his profile.

Marcus unconsciously placed his left hand on the inside of Tomas’ right thigh, his thumb moving in a circle above the knee; his eyes never leaving the stars.

Tomas gave a low groan, lowering his head onto Marcus’ left arm at the shoulder and slowly shaking his head.

“Marcus,” he breathed.

“Did you mean it? What you said in that field to that version of me?”

Tomas bolted upright.

“NO! I could never mean those words, let alone say them!”

Marcus finally turned his head to look at Tomas. He gave him a small smile.

“That’s exactly why I won’t forgive you: For there is nothing to forgive. _You_ didn’t say those vile things to me, Tomas. Something else did.”

Tomas returned the smile. He knew deep down Marcus was right. It was just so hard to forget. He lived it. Every scenario The Figure had dropped Tomas into was tangible. The figure had screwed with his head and he hated that pernicious creature for it.

He also hated himself for thinking he was strong enough to kick the demon to the curb. It was self-righteous, narcissistic and very, very stupid. He was lucky he was not dead or worse. He knew he would heal over time. Marcus would be quite helpful in that department.

But first Tomas had to finish telling Marcus about his ordeal. All of it.

“There’s more.”

Marcus sighed.

“There always is.”

“And you’re going to hate it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Mouse was carving something out of a piece of wood. She had been at it for about an hour, sitting alone wearing a ribbed dark green tank, black leggings and boots; her pulled back into a low ponytail. None of the men had bothered her in the meantime and she was grateful. She did not want to be disturbed. She needed to finish her project. It was important that it was complete when the moment arrived. There could be no mistakes.

Bennett, Marcus and Tomas all were sitting around a table biding their time. Two out of three were dressed for work. The third resembled a rumpled crumpet with his crinkled white V-neck T-shirt and his cropped dark blonde hair catching the sunlight as it filtered in through the window. No one said anything. There was nothing to say. The only sound inside the camper was of Mouse’s knife cutting into wood. The silence was deafening.

Marcus, who was sitting on the inside of the bench near the window next to Bennett, caught Tomas’ eye and gave a lascivious little smile. Tomas matched that smile and raised Marcus by sliding off his loafer, inching his left foot inside the right leg of Marcus’ jeans and rubbing the right side of his calf. Marcus’ smile grew as he slid down in his seat just a bit, somehow managed to get his left boot off and placed his sock-covered foot on Tomas’ crotch, rubbing ever so gently. Tomas’ smile didn’t move, but the look in his eyes changed from playful to lustful.

“ENOUGH!” roared Bennett, who had finally cottoned on to what was happening and was standing in front of the table. “This is _not_ going to happen now! There are more important things to deal with than your libidos!”

Tomas and Marcus snapped to attention with Marcus pulling his boot back on as Tomas slid his foot back into his loafer and shook his head in order to clear it.

“Sorry,” they both mumbled.

Mouse stopped. Her project was complete. She raised it to get a better look. It was a good-looking cross; a little rough round the edges, but effective. She turned to look at Bennett, who was now in front of the bathroom door looking, well, cross. Mouse gave a little laugh. _How fitting_ , she thought. Bennett glanced at her. She dropped the smile, but gripped the cross. She gave him a nod.

Bennett slid onto the bench next to Marcus, a knife gliding out of his jacket sleeve and into his left hand. He put his right arm around Marcus’ shoulders as his left hand jammed the knife in quick, multiple successions into Marcus’ left side.

Meanwhile, Mouse had thrust her newly created cross into Tomas’ throat. The bottom of the cross formed a stake that tore through his skin and sent blood pouring out as soon as the religious symbol was removed.

Seeing as how the puncture wounds were not doing the job fast enough and impressed by the arterial spray Mouse’s successful attack had provided, Bennett took his knife and ran it across Marcus’ throat, nearly taking his head off. Marcus fell face first onto the table; he was dead before he landed.

Tomas was not nearly as lucky. His blood was everywhere. He tried to apply pressure to his wound, but it was not enough. He was bleeding out and no one was going to save him. Tears filled his eyes as he watched Marcus’ corpse. He felt confusion and anger as his eyes moved to Mouse and Bennett, who both stood far enough away to be of no help yet close enough to have ringside seats for his death.

The last thing Tomas heard before he died was a message from Bennett: “If you two hadn’t been so caught up in each other, you might have seen this coming.”

 

It took some time for Marcus to track down Tomas’ and Mouse’s whereabouts. He scoured the Internet as best he could, but he also checked in with a few contacts he had made whom he could still trust. They, in turn, reached out to those who may have had some intel and so on and so forth. It took a few weeks, but Marcus finally had a lead.

_Fuck Google_ , he thought. _I’ll take an underground network of faith healers, shamans and the like any bloody day of the week._

With his bag slung across his shoulder and a few miles under his feet, Marcus eventually managed to hitch a ride in the back of a pickup that would take him forty miles in the right direction. After that, he walked until he thought he would pass out from exhaustion. He spent the night in some woods next to a stretch of two-lane blacktop praying and ruminating on what he had heard that fateful day on the docks one month prior; three months after he had left his friends behind in Washington state. It led him back to the same thought: Tomas. He had to reach him before it was too late. He would never forgive himself if he could not save the one person who meant the world to him.

The next day his luck changed. He met a trucker who would take him to his destination. The driver thought it was odd that this scraggy Brit in a black leather jacket and skinny jeans would be heading to, of all places, Milford, Connecticut.

Marcus smiled.

“I like to think of it as divine intervention.”

Four days later, Marcus and the trucker parted ways amicably. Marcus even walked away with an extra fifty dollars in his pocket as a parting gift. The trucker’s name was Ken Monroe and he was in his late fifties or early sixties, his light brown hair that was now mostly gray the only true sign of his age. They had bonded over their love of British soul and early country-and-western music. Ken was happily married to Maureen (“Forty-three years this coming April,” he proudly announced), and was the father of five, grandfather of six. Ken and Marcus shared meals and a motel room, each with his own bed and a schedule for the shower.

Marcus could not have asked for a better traveling companion and told Ken this just before Ken dropped him off at a motel just off the interstate outside Milford. When the two men shook hands in parting, Ken made sure Marcus palmed the bills. Once Marcus realized what had happened he started to protest, but Ken would not hear of it. He just sincerely hoped Marcus was able to find his friend and help him.

Now that he was at the motel, Marcus walked into the front office to get the number to the room he so desperately hoped was still occupied.

His luck had not yet run out.

He knocked on the door to room eight. He saw the curtain move in the window to his right.

The door opened wide, its occupant stood with her left hand on her hip and her right hand on the door, shaking her head. She was wearing black leggings, a charcoal Henley under an olive green Army jacket and black boots.

“I should have known you couldn’t stay away,” Mouse said.

“I should have known, too.”

She let him in, eyeing him as he walked through. He was wearing the same jeans and black leather jacket he always wore, but with an added red scarf to protect him from the nip in the air.

“What are you doing here, Marcus? How did you even find us?”

“I’m here … because God told me to be here. I believe I found you because He willed it.”

Mouse was speechless. She had expected Marcus to say a lot of things, but not that. That had never even occurred to her. Mostly she expected him to say he came back because he could not live without Tomas and he had moved Heaven and Earth in order to make it so. Mostly she expected this because Tomas had not been the same since Marcus bailed. Tomas put up a brave front, interacted with her amiably and learned what he could from her, but she knew there was a piece of him missing; that his heart was not fully committed. Luckily for Tomas, his heart had just walked back through the door — and with God’s blessing to boot.

“He — You — He really talked to you?”

Forming a coherent sentence on the topic while trying to process Marcus’ news was harder than Mouse thought it would be. She could not stop staring incredulously at her old friend, her mouth opened in disbelief.

“Yes.” Marcus was staring back, trying to ascertain if Mouse had had a stroke after hearing his proclamation.

“What did He say?”

“I need to see Tomas.”

Mouse was confused for a second until she figured out Marcus meant that _Marcus_ needed to see Tomas. She sighed, letting her shoulders sag a little.

“Of course you do.”

Marcus gave a rueful chuckle.

“I feel he should hear about this first since it’s about him and his gift.”

Mouse folded her arms across her chest. God talked to Marcus about Tomas and his abilities. This was not good. She could feel it. It also did not help that Marcus had that cold steel look about him. Her mobile rang.

“Don’t move,” she told Marcus.

She pulled the phone out of her jacket pocket and stepped outside. A few minutes later, she re-entered the motel room looking nervous and excited.

“What is it?” Marcus asked.

“I think I may have a lead on Bennett.”

Mouse could not believe it. It had been weeks since he disappeared from the hospital. She never thought he was dead, but there are things worse than death and that is what she feared had happened to Bennett.

“Maybe God did send you here. You and Tomas have your mission. And I have mine.”

There was an edge to this last part as if she was daring Marcus to stop her from finding their friend.

“Go,” he told her. “Just tell me where I can find Tomas first.”

 

 

Tomas and Marcus sat on the picnic table in silence.  Tomas replayed the camper scene in vivid detail leaving nothing out. Not even the footsie part. Marcus did not say anything after the latest chapter ended. He was processing it all. He tried to focus on any one part, but he could not. The violence. The betrayal. The footsie. He could not help but give a tiny grin at the thought of such a moment between him and Tomas. But there was another bit that gnawed at his brain. The more he considered it, the more scared he became.

“You’re thinking of what Bennett said in the vision.” Tomas was leaning back on his elbows, looking at Marcus.

Marcus turned so he could look at him.

“Like you’re not.”

“It’s impossible not to. It seems to make a fine point on it, no?”

Marcus studied Tomas before answering. Father Ortega’s face was a blank slate in the dim light, but there was something else. Was Tomas purposely shielding him from his thoughts?

“Maybe. What are you not telling me?”

“I told you everything I saw. _Everything,_ ” he stressed.

“That’s not what I meant. Your face is usually so expressive and now … nothing.” Marcus searched Tomas’ eyes, seeking a kernel of truth. He found it.

Tomas did not last long under such scrutiny from one he cared for deeply. The mask dropped.

“You think Bennett’s right.” Marcus was shaken. He thought he had been reading the signs correctly. He thought they had reached an understanding the day he came back. Was he mistaken? Had he been so myopic and narcissistic, so deluded that he failed to see the truth even when it was staring him in the face?

_Dear God. Did I fuck this up? Did I ruin us?_

“I’m scared he might be.” Tomas did not want to admit such thing out loud. He regretted his words as he watched Marcus’ face.

_Did he just flinch?_ _This is not what I meant to happen. This was not how this was supposed to play out. We were supposed to figure this out together!_

Instead it seemed to be pulling them further apart. No! He would be damned if he lost Marcus now. The ex-Father Keane walked away from him once, but Tomas would not allow him do so again.

A thought occurred to him. He sat up and leaned in so he was only a couple of inches from Marcus’ face. Personal space was the last thing Tomas cared about at this point. He placed his right hand over Marcus’ left hand.

“But I’m more scared we are not heeding the warning accurately. What if what this demon wants is to tear us apart once and for all? Do you really think we are better off without each other? We saved Angela and Casey Rance’s lives. We saved Andy Kim’s soul. We were there for Elisa Carroll.

“‘I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment.’”

“‘And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand.’ Christ. You _would_ quote scripture to me at a time like this.”

The joy and hope from Tomas’ smile made him appear to be lit from within. Marcus fell for him a little more right then.

“Says the man who quoted scripture right back to me.” Tomas also found he lost a bit more of himself to the man he trusted with his entire being.

Marcus could not stop the amazing feeling coursing through his body. He had lost it for so long, it only flaring up in short bursts whenever he was with the person who literally was so close he could taste him. Oh, how he wanted to taste him.

“ _You_ saved Angela Rance. I wasn’t even there.”

“I wouldn’t have able to do it without you. _You_ are _always_ with me.”

Marcus felt the tears prick his lashes.

Tomas could not have cared less about the water that also was springing up in his own eyes. He would willingly drown with Marcus in a pool of their shared tears.

“And you with me,” Marcus replied, his words catching along with his breath.


	5. Chapter 5

The exorcists waited till dusk to bury Cuddles in the Carroll’s backyard. A motion-censored device flooded a bright white light into the darkness. Thankfully the yard was sealed off from the rest of the neighborhood by a tall white wooden fence, so they could lay the Pomeranian in her final resting place without alerting any nosy neighbors.

It took nine hours, but they finally managed to get Elisa off the ceiling and sedated in bed.

Nine hours of cursing (Elisa); reciting the rites of exorcism (Tomas and Marcus); projectile vomiting (Elisa); projectile bleeding from two different orifices (again Elisa, who felt the need to add: “What a bloody mess!” after she finished); traditional vomiting (Tomas, who ran into the bathroom attached to the guest room when blood from Elisa’s vagina got into his mouth before they could once again tie her to the bed); more cursing (Elisa again, plus Tomas and Marcus when she separately flung them across the room after the third — Marcus — and fourth — Tomas — time); and some good old-fashioned violence.

Nine hours and three horse tranquilizers that Malcolm got from a friend, who was a veterinarian.

The violence was, well, violent. Possessed Elisa flat-out refused to go gently into that good night. She punched, kicked, clawed and even bit in an attempt to dissuade the duo in their mission. At one point, hunkered down on the floor in a corner of the room, she started talking like the woman instead of the demon. Marcus carefully made his way over to her as Tomas followed behind him with his left arm outstretched, crucifix at the ready, and his right hand holding an open Bible. Marcus spoke softly as not to spook Elisa.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Elisa. Elisa Carroll.” She was terrified, not entirely sure where she was or the identities of the two men in front of her.

“Do you know where you are, Elisa?”

She looked around, taking in her environment.

“My house. The downstairs guest bedroom.”

“Good, Elisa. Very good. My name is Marcus Keane,” he said by way of introduction.

He gestured to the man behind him.

“This is Father Tomas Ortega. Your husband asked us to help you. Do you know your husband’s name, Elisa?”

“M-M-Malcolm.”

Marcus smiled as he crouched down in front of her.

“Excellent, Elisa. Do you remember anything from the past few weeks?”

She nodded.

“What do you remember, Elisa?” Marcus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was a trap, but he wasn’t quick enough.

“I remember wanting you to die!” She was on him before he could move, her teeth at his throat like a vampire going in for the kill.

Marcus managed to prevent her from biting his neck, but not his left hand. She chomped into the flesh like a well-done steak fresh off the grill. Marcus screamed, blood oozing down his arm and Elisa’s chin. She didn’t unclench her jaw though.

Tomas ran into the kitchen, filled the sink basin with tap water and blessed it. He tore back into the guest room, trying his best not to spill too much and dumped the cold liquid over Elisa’s head.

Her scream filled not just the room, but the entire house and seemingly half the neighborhood. Every window in the room burst, sending glass everywhere — inside as well as out onto the grass in the backyard — shredding the mattresses as if they were made from papier-mâché.

Malcolm suddenly appeared with his hands to his ears in an effort to lessen the volume of his wife’s demonic howl. It didn’t work. He shuffled over to Tomas, who was on his knees and also with his hands over his ears.

Malcolm showed him the hypodermic needle. Tomas understood immediately. He took a deep breath and charged at Elisa, tackling her and tossing her onto the bed. Malcolm immediately injected his possessed wife with a rather large dose of ketamine.

He took to tying his wife’s arms and legs to the bedposts with extra rope he had in the garage. Tomas had held her down as Malcolm scurried out to get the twisted cord. His hands shook, but he made sure each of the knots were tight and secure — not like last time. He still did not understand how she freed herself from the ropes, let alone the chains. When he finished, he came around the other side of bed to where Tomas was cradling Marcus as he looked at the injured hand. Malcolm had them follow him out of the room so he could treat Marcus.

Now Marcus stood idly by as Tomas dug a grave for poor Cuddles. He ran his good hand through his short, spiky blonde hair. He hated feeling so useless. He did, however, enjoy the view.

Tomas had taken off his sport coat and shirt front including the collar, rolled up his shirtsleeves and unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt. He slammed the shovel first into the grass, then repeatedly into the underlying dirt; removing soil until the hole was deep enough to bury what was left of the dog. As he worked, his sinuous muscles moved methodically under the white shirt; his chest heaved from exertion as his lungs worked to bring air in and out; his legs gamely bore the added weight of the soil on the shovel time and again; and his ass clenched beneath the black trousers whenever the shovel came back up full.

Marcus knew this was not the time to be indulging in lustful thoughts for his partner, but he also was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

_Oh dear Lord don’t get me started on that mouth._

He finally looked away, scouring the yard with no fixed point in mind just to snap out of the trance he had fallen into. Marcus was grateful it was late fall and not the middle of summer. He would be fucked then and not in the way he would like.

“Marcus!”

His attention snapped to Tomas, who was standing next to the burial plot with the round point of the shovel in the grass, his right hand on the handle and his left hand on his hip.

“Can you hand me Cuddles?”

Marcus held his tongue, turning around instead to pick up the garbage bag with the tiny dog’s body and delicately hand it to Tomas.

“Sorry.”

“No worries,” Tomas exchanged the shovel for the Pomeranian. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired perhaps,” he added wistfully.

Tomas nodded. Carefully, he placed the bag enshrouding Cuddles’ remains into the ground. He reached out for the shovel, which Marcus handed him, and began replacing the soil he removed earlier.

_Oh fuck me hard. I need a fag._

Marcus reluctantly moved away from Tomas, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his leather jacket. He lit a cigarette, replacing the pack and lighter as he took a long drag. He blew the smoke out into the night, looking at the stars as he did so. He wondered if God was watching or if he had buggered off to another realm altogether.

Marcus felt a hand on the small of his back.

“Smoking again?” Tomas asked without judgment, his head cocked slightly. He had since put back on the shirt front, collar and sport coat.

“One of those times,” Marcus replied. “I’ve been bloody good!”

Tomas smiled.

“The dog is interred. We should probably go back in.”

Marcus nodded and dropped the half-smoked cigarette onto the grass, rubbing out the flame with his boot.

“It was sweet of you to bury the dog.”

“I needed the respite. We both did.”

Marcus’ bandaged hand flexed involuntarily. He looked towards the guest bedroom’s window.

“She’s a tough bitch.”

Tomas followed his gaze.

“So is Elisa.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Your compassion knows no bounds, Father Ortega. You are an asset not only to the Church, but to mankind. Your parishioners worship you. You have the undying gratitude of those you save from possession, as well as the respect of the families of those whom you cannot save._

_Your friends, those whom **you** consider kindred: the defender of the faith, the determined vigilante and the wounded warrior; they would follow you into the very depths of Hell itself if asked. You who abandoned his family to traverse the earth with the wounded warrior. You who willingly enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh with a married woman. _

_The very man who is considered a pariah and a threat to the very religion he pledged his devotion._

The Figure kept its gaze steady upon Tomas, trying to gage his reaction. Tomas wore his guilt and shame like a scarlet ‘A’. He owned his actions, but not all were without regret. If it was disappointed or satisfied with what it saw, it did not show it. It merely tilted its head from side to side as it looked up at the man in front of him who hung naked from a wooden cross with iron nails puncturing each of his hands on either side of the horizontal beam and both of his feet as they rested side by side on the vertical beam. Around his neck was an iron collar that was fastened to the wood. Whatever else it was The Figure had planned, it did not want Tomas to miss a second.

From Tomas’ vantage point he could make out he was in an industrial space, mostly likely abandoned. Or was that by design? The only working light source was directly above him, creating an illuminated circle that encompassed him and The Figure. His arms, hands, legs and feet were numb, but he could feel pressure from where the nails rested in his flesh. His neck was stiff and his skin chaffed under the restraint. His body was neither cold nor warm. His penis was flaccid. He did not know what The Figure had planned for him. He did know, however, whatever it was would not be pleasant.

Tomas thought about what the figure said when referring to the people for whom he felt the most strongly: _Mi familia._

_Bennett is the defender of the faith, travelling the world to find out everything he can about the insidious evil that has embedded itself into the Catholic Church. His love for the Church knows no bounds, but he is not bulletproof. They have him somewhere. Maybe it is here, maybe it is somewhere similar; maybe it is nothing like this, maybe it is worse. Watch over Bennett, oh Heavenly Father. Protect him. Give him the strength to find his way back to the light that is Your love if he has found himself lost to it._

_The determined vigilante can only be Mouse. She is willing to go to any length to stop the demons from winning. She is fearless. She inspires me and terrifies me in equal measure. It is because of her my gift is as strong as it has ever been, but it is also because of her that my confidence exceeded my grasp. I do not blame her. It was **my** hubris that got the better of me; that led me here, now. Help her not to confuse rage with righteousness, Lord. Her determination to make the world a better, safer place can sometimes cause her to forget her humanity. It’s vital she never loses that._

That left the “wounded warrior”. The reaction Tomas had was immediate and searing. His heart clenched; his throat closed up; tears pooled in his eyes, red seeping into the white part around the iris as it intensified the green within the brown of the hazel.

_Marcus. Mi amado. You will walk in a room full of demons or with only the Devil himself without thinking twice and yet you doubt your own worthiness as a man. Your purity touches me more than you will ever know. I so want nothing more than for you to believe you are good. You are beautiful. You are deserving of my love, which you have and will have long after I cease to walk this earth._

The Figure’s head snapped into its upright position.

_The link._

Tomas had forgotten for a moment their minds were psychically connected. It had heard every thought he just had concerning Bennett, Mouse and Marcus.

_Fuck._

In the distance, Tomas heard a door open and shut. Footsteps echoed as they came closer.

The Figure took a step towards Tomas, its head inclined to best see him.

_Your heart may be your downfall. I suspected as much, but needed to see for myself. I do not expect you to survive this next trial. For if you do not, know that there will not be another. As with the horror movies your kind delight in viewing: If you perish in this world, you will die in yours._

The footsteps stopped just on the periphery of luminescence housing Tomas and The Figure, which looked out into the shadows. After a moment, the new arrival stepped into the light. Tomas’ heart sunk, though he was not surprised by the identity of the third party.

The Figure turned its head back to Tomas.

_Marcus Keane just may be the death of you yet._


	7. Chapter 7

The sun had disappeared behind the gray clouds that rolled in that afternoon. All the natural light that had given the garden behind the little Episcopalian church a warm glow had faded, leaving a rather depressed aura in its place. The church was located about twenty minutes on foot from the motel where Tomas and Mouse were staying until tomorrow when they would head north towards Hartford to meet someone who might be in need of their services.

Today, Tomas just wanted some quiet time alone to reflect before the chaos that comes with the promise of a new exorcism. He would be sorry to leave the church garden behind. The pastor was a kind woman who recognized a broken heart when she saw one.

Tomas found the church the day he and Mouse arrived in town a week ago. He needed to stretch his legs and clear his head after they checked in. He hiked along a local road next to the motel, just off the highway, for a few miles when he caught sight of a steeple. He turned onto the gravel driveway walking up it till he reached the church’s front door on his left.

He entered the building, traveling through the foyer into the nave. Out of habit, he knelt, crossed himself and said a little prayer before taking a seat in a nearby pew. Tomas took a deep breath and let out a shuddering sigh. It felt so wonderful to be inside a church again. He let the moment wash over him, closing his eyes as he did. When he opened them, Pastor Monica Dalton was sitting in the pew ahead of him, looking at him with compassion and a smile.

She was in her mid-thirties with honey-blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, although she tended to wear it in a ponytail when she wasn't on duty. This usually meant Sunday services or church-sanctioned events she wore it more conservatively. Today, she wore it up in a high ponytail which worked well with the dusty pink Chvrches T-shirt she had on over a white long-sleeved tee, her standard light-wash blue jeans and light blue Chucks. Unless there was snow on the ground or it was pouring down rain, she always could be seen in her favorite shoes. Even then, she brought them with her to wear inside the church while she worked. Her glasses completed the “cool pastor” look.

Tomas liked her instantly.

He had not been wearing his clerical uniform that day. He felt no need to tell her he was a priest — no use opening that can of worms. She observed that he was a man of faith who had been tested more than once. She offered him sanctuary at her parish for as long as he needed it. At one point in their initial conversation, Tomas mentioned the one thing he missed from home (he never said exactly where he was from) was being able to tour the gardens. Pastor Monica asked if she could show him something.

The garden was small but lovely. It had green grass, a variety of flowers that had all but lost their bloom due to the cooler temperatures and a small wooden bench that could comfortably seat two. Tomas was smitten with it instantly. He could imagine how gorgeous it looked in the spring and summer.

The pastor said he could come to the garden whenever he wanted for as long as he desired. No one would bother him as it was far enough behind the church. She told him he need not bother asking her permission each day, but added she did hope he would not be a stranger. He promised he would check in with her before he concluded each visit. It was the least he could do, and he would do so willingly and happily.

Now as he sat on the bench in dark wash jeans, brown boots and layered in a navy blue crewneck sweater, a black hoodie and black peacoat as he contemplated how his life had evolved over the past few months, he felt a vibration in his jacket pocket. He had turned the ringer off on his mobile out of respect for participating in God’s restorative process. Only one person had the number. Tomas pulled the smartphone out of his pocket (Mouse insisted he should possess a basic model at the very least because it was no longer 1998, this despite the fact he had owned one while he was living in Chicago) and answered.

“He’s here. He’s on his way to you now.”

Tomas closed his eyes. He took what should have been a calming breath, but instead it managed to make him slightly agitated. Make that more agitated, seeing as Mouse’s words had put him on edge.

“I got a lead on Bennett, so I’m heading out. You’ll be okay meeting with Malcolm Carroll?”

Tomas nodded. He opened his eyes, realizing he needed to speak since Mouse was not clairvoyant.

“Yes. It will be fine.”

“Will _you_ be?” She was worried. She knew better. Her partner was not in the best shape when they were first paired. It was months before he became the man whom she would trust with her life. She worked her ass off to get him out of his funk. He responded with a determination that she came to admire — albeit begrudgingly.

Mouse recognized a fellow damaged soul and knew she was the only person to heal him. She empathized with his condition at the time, but also hated him for it. He was an emo pussy who grated her last nerve. However, she figured out the honey approach would be best for pulling his head out of his ass.

_God give me the serenity._

He did. Tomas eventually came around and Mouse let her guard down with him. They have a good relationship.

If Marcus fucked that up she would end him.

Period.

“I’ll be fine, Mouse. I promise.”

“Good. I’m taking the truck, so you’ll have to find your way to the meeting place. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You _should_ take the truck. I’ll figure out something. Check in on occasion and let me know if you need anything.”

“Got it.” There was a long pause before she added: “Good luck, Tomas.”

“Mantente a salvo, mi amiga.”

Tomas sat on the bench after his call with Mouse ended and waited. He was hunched over with his forearms resting on his knees and his hands clasped, staring at the grass. He sat like that until he heard his name.

“Marcus,” Tomas replied, not turning his head. He kept staring at the grass.

Marcus waited silently and patiently for his friend to look at him. He was not idle, however. Marcus studied Tomas. He was in street clothes. His body language, however, delivered an unexpected result.

_He’s angry._ It never occurred to him Tomas would be angry with him. He expected to have to make amends, soothe hurt feelings or ruffled feathers, but not this. He could almost see the heat vibrating off Tomas.

“What brings you back?” Tomas finally turned his head to look at Marcus, who sincerely wished he had not.

With a sharp sarcasm, Tomas added: “Did you miss me?”

“I missed you the moment I knew I had to leave you,” Marcus responded.

“But that’s not why you came back.”

“No. Not entirely.” Marcus braced himself for the battle to come. He dropped his shoulder allowing the backpack he had slung over it to hit the ground. He shrugged his shoulders inside his jacket, readying himself physically.

Tomas leaned back, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap.

“Tell me. What brings Marcus Keane shambling back into my life?”

_Yeah_ , Marcus thought. _This was going to go well._

“God spoke to me. He said you are one of the chosen — his ‘rising star’ — and because of this you have a target on your back. He told me to come back to you and protect you.”

Tomas kept his poker face in place, but inside was a different story. Every emotion was whirling around fighting for dominance. He could not process what Marcus had just said. The words had no meaning. He knew they were important. He knew Marcus was telling the truth. He knew he honestly did not give a fuck.

Anger won out. He was on his feet in an instant, causing Marcus to unconsciously take a step back.

“God spoke to you. That’s why you’ve returned? No other reason. Dad popped his head in, said ‘Hey, you got a minute?’ and as soon as your session was over you just run straight to me. Are you _kidding_ me?! You have _bitched_ and _moaned_ about how God has abandoned you and then _you_ leave _me_?! I am the _only_ one who has stood by you! Who has seen the good in you that you refuse to see in yourself. _I_ am the one who left _everything_ because I believe in you and our work. Now you tell me the only reason you came back is because _He_ decreed it?! _Fuck you_ , Marcus, and your come-to-Jesus moment! How goddamn convenient of you to find religion now."

Marcus had never seen Tomas like this. Frustrated, yes; not filled with the bitterness and resentment Tomas felt for him now. It struck Marcus at his core. He had done this. He had blackened and twisted the heart of the man he loved because of his own emotional issues that he had never bothered to take the time sort out.

“I’m sorry, Tomas.” Marcus moved closer and attempted to put a hand on Tomas’ arm.

He pushed Marcus’ hand away.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me.” He turned, moving away from him.

“Tomas, please. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I felt I had to leave, but I had just taken a man’s life. I needed time to reconcile what I had done with the vows I had taken when I joined the priesthood, as well as with my own morality. It doesn’t matter I’ve been ex-communicated. I still bloody care!” Marcus knew how self-aggrandizing he sounded, but it did not make it any less true.

Tomas rounded on him.

“ _I know_! You shut me out like I didn’t mean a damn to you, like I had no place in your life. It _killed_ me to think I had imagined everything! Every look. Every gesture. Every touch. That I had created subtext where there was none!”

Marcus grabbed the face of the needlessly tortured man in front of him with both hands.

“You mean _everything_ to me, Tomas Ortega. You are my _life_. It was _all_ real. You imagined _nothing._ _Every_ look. _Every_ gesture.”

He caressed Tomas’ cheek with his right hand.

Softer, he continued: “ _Every_ touch. _Every_ word of that subtext was text to me. I never want to hurt you. And yet I can’t seem to stop. For that, I am truly sorry.”

Tomas felt the anger crack, but he was not ready to let it go.

Not yet.

He shoved Marcus as hard as he could.

Marcus hit the ground hard, but was back on his feet quickly.

_So this how this is going to go, eh?_ He recognized the glint in Tomas’ eyes; it mirrored the one that shown in his. His pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his body. The time had come. He marched over to Tomas and shoved him back harder.

Punches were thrown; more than few landed effectively. The two rolled around on the ground, tackling and throwing each off the other until Marcus finally got the upper hand and pinned down Tomas.

“Say it!” Marcus ordered.

Tomas writhed beneath him. Marcus could feel the man’s erection, knowing Tomas could feel his, too. The more Tomas fought him, the harder they both became.

“SAY IT!”

“NO!”

Tomas managed to lift up part of his torso in defiance of Marcus, who still had his wrists on lockdown.

Marcus cocked his head to the side of Tomas’ and whispered seductively in his ear: “You know you want to, love.”

This was Tomas’ undoing. The anger melted into a full-bodied lust that could be quenched with three words.

His voice dropped an octave as he whispered, “I love you.”

Marcus’ grasp on his wrists lessened. Tomas didn’t move at first. Then, he slowly moved his head until his lips found their home. He kissed Marcus softly once. Twice. Marcus returned the gesture, softly at first. The second time he got into it a bit more, releasing his Tomas’ wrists and moving back into an upright position so that he was resting on his knees. Tomas followed. Marcus’ hands cupped Tomas’ face; Tomas’ slid on to Marcus’ hips, forcing his crotch against his own.

Tomas slid his tongue gently into Marcus’ mouth. Marcus responded in kind. They could not keep their hands off each other, yet neither pair of hands found their way below the other’s belts. Eventually, reluctantly, they came up for air, but they kept their hands where they were. Neither wanted to let the other go, either figuratively or physically.

Marcus drank in Tomas, from his jet black hair to his glowing olive skin to his intoxicating hazel eyes that had so much feeling in them.

His Tomas.

“Te quiero.”

An enormous smile emerged from Tomas’ lips. Marcus tried to match it, but he felt his own didn’t quite make it. Tomas thought Marcus had a wonderful smile. He always had.


	8. Chapter 8

**FIVE MONTHS AGO**

Mouse could not put the State of Washington in the rearview fast enough. She decided it would be best to make a clean break once she spoke with Tomas after Marcus split. She kept her speed to a respectable five miles over the speed limit, but the only stop made was for gas and the bathroom. Tomas was quiet for the most part. He would comment when he spotted a highway sign indicating a gas station could be found at the next exit or answer any questions Mouse asked, though those were few and far between. They crossed into Oregon in about three hours.

The plan was to stay along the coast and bounce along from town to town for a few weeks, staying only for a few days in each location. There was one exception and it was a big one: Mouse had an irrational desire to see Portland.  She did not know why, but she had become enamored with the idea. Since they were in the area anyway and, really, who knew when (or if, let’s be real) they would return. She ran it by Tomas, though she did not know why she even bothered. It was not like there were _not_ going to go. He said that it was fine, but she could tell he was not that keen on it.

Big city. Lots of people. Spies for the Church everywhere. She got it. They were not going to spend the day there, just an hour. Long enough to say she had been to Portland. Twenty minutes after arriving in the state, she was in the city’s downtown. She spotted a coffee shop that looked cool, so she found parking on a nearby side street and noticed the two-hour parking sign. Perfect.

Tomas got out of the olive green pickup truck wearing a stripped down version of his cleric’s uniform — minus the shirt front and collar — under a black jacket. He had to admit it was nice being in a city again; his first since he left Chicago. It also was nice to not be sitting inside the cab of the pickup. He crossed the street with Mouse and together they walked the couple blocks to the coffee shop.

The shop was called Havu Bean, as in “how’ve you been?” The pun was eyeroll worthy, but the coffee was to die for. The place was bustling, yet Tomas just managed to snag a table near the wall, set a bit back from the storefront window, while Mouse queued.  He people-watched while he waited. He noticed a young woman with short dark hair that was longer in the front standing in profile by the coffee condiment station along the back wall next to the register. Tomas nearly did a double-take. She reminded him of Verity, one of Andy Kim’s foster children whom he had met during Andy’s possession in Washington; even more so when she talked.

“Nick, seriously. You need to chill. Diana is _not_ going to be a bad influence on Kelly. She’s super into protecting him, why would she suddenly go all ‘Bad Seed’?”

Nick shook his head.

“No, Trubel. It’s not that I think she’ll be a bad influence; it’s more like I’m afraid she’s being too overprotective. Adalind thinks I’m nuts.”

Trubel laughed.

“ _Because you are._ ” She checked her mobile for the time.

“We gotta go meet Hank. Eve can just meet us there.”

As they moved towards the front of the store, she added, “Diana gets that from you, by the way. She’s very observant that one.”

“Shut up.” Nick laughed and lightly pushed her out the door.

Mouse sat down at their table with their order. She took off her black jacket, the one with the leather patches at the elbows, as she eyed Tomas. She was wearing a black tank under a maroon button-down shirt, black leggings and matching boots. Her long brown hair pinned back at the temples.

“You good? You look weird.”

“I saw someone who reminded me of Verity.” He crinkled his nose as he got a whiff of the decidedly strong aroma coming out of Mouse’s disposable paper cup.

“What in God’s name are you drinking?”

“Heart Attack,” she smirked. “They have to call it that for legal reasons.” She gave a smug glance to Tomas’ beverage.

“How’s your caramel mocha latte?”

He took a sip, careful not to singe his mouth. He failed.

“Delicious. I’d sooner slip into a diabetic coma than have my heart explode.”

“Pussy.” Mouse felt good about this detour and their banter. Tomas was making an effort. It’s a first step; a baby step. She could see the pain behind the pleasantries. This was going to take time. Good thing they had plenty of it.

After they finished their coffees and polished off an almond croissant (Tomas) and a cranberry muffin (Mouse), they headed back to the truck. They were on the road again in no time, heading south. It was nice having no set destination, no appointments to keep.

They rode in a companionable silence for a few more hours till Mouse pulled off the highway to find a motel that would be their home for the next few nights.

She ensured they would not have to hole up in an abandoned shack in the middle of the freaking woods by securing their financial nest egg before leaving Washington. She prayed Tomas would never question where the money came from for she would rather not lie to him.

However, if he was dumb enough to ask, she would totally lie to him without blinking. She would rather he keep his innocence in some respects.

The next couple weeks were uneventful. They traded one town/motel for another every four to five days. At one stop, Mouse had heard about another town a few hours down the coast whose cash crop was marijuana. This gave her an idea.

She and her sidekick arrived in the bayside pot town a few days later. Mouse had forgotten what it was called as soon as she passed the welcome sign, but she knew it had “white” in the name. She pulled into a motel a few miles down the road from what would be a major bypass.

_That sucks_ , she thought _. That thing is going to kill any business this place gets._

She checked them in while Tomas grabbed their bags out of the backseat. As she walked past the other rooms to Tomas, she got a whiff of a very particular odor emanating from within one of them. She made a mental note of the room number and kept walking.

“I want pizza.”

It was an hour later and Mouse had made a declaration.

Tomas considered it.

“I could eat. That — what was it supposed to be? — muffin wore off hours ago.”

“Great! I heard there’s a good place in town.” She bounded off the bed she had claimed as hers, grabbing her jacket and one of the two room keys.

“I’ll meet you at the truck.” She left before he could say anything.

Mouse walked down to room four and knocked. A young guy with brown hair and a lazy grin appeared. She asked how much. He opened the door wider so she could enter. He gave her his rates and she gave him her cash. He said his name was Gunner and she should come again soon. Mouse kept that in mind as she left.

Tomas was already at the truck, and having seen her exit room four asked what that was about. She climbed in and unlocked his door. When they were both inside the vehicle with the doors closed, Mouse put her purchase between them on the bench seat.

“I bought pot brownies from this guy named Gunner and you are going to help me eat them.”

They split a brownie in the parking lot of the pizza joint in town. Mouse stuffed the rest of the bag in the glove compartment. They sat for a minute after they finished eating.

She was impressed Tomas did not put up much of a fight. He really had no interest in getting high, but neither did she. She merely wanted him to loosen up, let the real Tomas Ortega have a chance to breathe and relax without the specter of Marcus Keane stalking his rather cute and firm-looking ass.

For Tomas, what it came down to was that brownie looked so damn good and he was starving. He knew the pot would not kill him and if it took the edge off he had been feeling since Washington, then so be it. He was tired of feeling depressed, abandoned and heartbroken twenty-four hours a day. The irony that is exactly how Marcus felt when they first met was not lost on him. He seriously considered swiping another brownie out of the glove compartment after the realization dawned on him.

Inside the restaurant, they had their pick of table or booth, so they went with booth just in case either had a bad reaction to their dessert.

They ordered two large pies because Tomas was _really_ _really_ hungry.

Like, no kidding.

Mouse tried not to laugh while the waiter took their order. As soon as he left, she let out the biggest howl. Tomas did not know why she was laughing. He stared at her for one minute. Two minutes. Mouse just kept laughing. At around the three-and-a-half-minute mark, the penny dropped.

“Oh shit.” He started laughing. “I guess I should have eaten something else first.”

Mouse wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to calm down.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. How do you feel?”

Tomas thought about it. He looked back at her.

“Relaxed … happy … light. And a bit empty.”

The waiter arrived with their sodas and disappeared.

Mouse raised hers.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

Tomas smiled and tapped his cup against hers. He was relieved he was not wearing his cleric’s clothes, but an old black sweater, blue jeans and black boots. He looked at Mouse, who was wearing a baggy navy blue sweater, black leggings and her own ever-present black boots, and said a little prayer he was not in the wilderness alone.

The pizza arrived twenty minutes later. Tomas looked like the wolf in of those old Saturday morning cartoons who has the napkin tied around its neck and is smacking its lips and licking its chops while it impatiently waits to be fed.

Mouse enjoyed the three slices she was able to snatch off the pan as Tomas devoured what remained of the extra-large pie.

Over the next few nights, they made their way through the remainder of the brownie stash. The edibles came in handy when Tomas started to withdraw emotionally from Mouse or when one night the crushing blow of his heartache came to the surface.

Those were the times when Mouse would curse Marcus for not having the balls to stick around and sort his shit out with his friends’ help. She was not stupid. She knew his and Tomas’ connection was deeper than she had originally thought based on their interactions back on the island in Washington.

It also was during these times when she wanted to smack Tomas across the face and yell at him to snap out of it. She mostly wanted to do that because she wished someone literally had done it to her after Marcus had abandoned her all those years ago. Instead, she held Tomas in her arms and consoled him as best she could.

Then, she split a brownie with him.


	9. Chapter 9

**24 HOURS AGO**

The shit had hit the fan.

Literally.

Elisa had managed to get one hand free. It had only taken her thirteen hours to untie the knot using only her teeth, at least three of which were now either cracked or broken as a result.

The exorcists had decided against trying the chains again, mostly because she had managed to wrap one strand of the metal links around Marcus’ neck and had nearly choked the life out of him before Tomas punched her in the face, knocking her out in order for her grip to loosen. Tomas was really starting to hate this demon. Not that Marcus was entirely fond of it either.

She had managed to defecate herself spectacularly and with her limb’s newfound freedom, scooped what she could and flung it directly into the powered ceiling fan, which scored a double by landing the feces on their faces.

Tomas and Marcus remained undeterred. They continued the rites of exorcism as Elisa writhed on the bed shouting at the exorcists to “get fucked.”

Both men grabbed handkerchiefs out of their pockets and wiped off the excrement. They had been at it nonstop all night and well into the afternoon. A schedule they had maintained for the past three weeks. Sweat poured off their foreheads and they were bone tired. Time was running out. If they didn’t exorcise the demon soon, Elisa’s soul would be lost.

Then it happened.

A change.

Time slowed down.

The Figure was in the room.

It looked upon the scene dispassionately. It turned its focus to Tomas and Marcus, tilting its head side to side. He took a step closer to the exorcists, never letting its eyes leave them. They continued delivering the rites, but much slower and soundlessly. The white noise only would pollute the tableau. It preferred silence while it pondered and observed.

_Such passion. Such devotion. All this for someone they do not know; yet here they are …._

It closed its eyes. It used its mind to reach into each of theirs.

_So much self-flagellation for one so devout. He loves reticently but deeply. He is a fighter, but not for himself. He has taken more than one life, but has made peace with his actions. He wants nothing more than to love and be loved in return. How “Moulin Rouge”. His heart belongs to another. Fragile. No. Beaten down. He is clawing his way back. **You**. You are why he is so determined. He took your heart with him when he left. Your soul became a bit smudged. It is healing nicely now I see. Now that your heart is back. You never realized he left you his heart as collateral. Selfish. Myopic. You will do fine. Let us see what you are truly made of. Yes. Anger. I almost missed that. It’s almost faded away. I got here just in time._

The Figure stepped back and approached Elisa’s prone body. It whispered in her ear.

Time snapped back in place.

Tomas noticed a change in the air. Something was different. He could not put his finger on it. He just knew in the pit of his stomach it felt very wrong. It felt evil.

Marcus noticed the change, as well. He looked at Tomas, who looked back at him. They turned their heads to look at Elisa.

She was shouting at an invisible force.

“NO! She’s _mine_! I’m going to ride this cunt till she’s dead, so _fuck off_!”

Elisa struggled against the remainder of her restraints. She tried with all her might to pull the ropes taut enough so they might break the bedpost, but she failed. She screamed; shouted at whatever else was in the room with them.

“Elisa! Who are you yelling at? Who is here?” Tomas yelled out to her.

She looked at him with a wild look in her eyes. She was terrified.

“This fucker is trying to kill me! But I’m gonna win. I’m taking her with me one way or another!”

Marcus resumed the rites. He did not know what else to do. At least this way, they had a shot at exorcising the demon currently residing in Elisa before whatever it was that was here with them beat them to it. Tomas joined him, warily eying the situation before him.

Elisa’s screaming reached a fever pitch. She thrashed on the bed. Her head slammed repeatedly into the headboard leaving behind blood after the third or fourth blow. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She stopped screaming then. Her body began convulsions. Foam bubbled up inside her mouth, slipping down the side of her face.

Then, she stopped moving altogether.

Tomas and Marcus raced over to her. Marcus threw open the door and shouted for Malcolm. Tomas checked her pulse. There was none.

Wait.

Yes.

It was there.

Barely.

He opened her eyes, one at a time. The irises were back; her pupils dilated.

Malcolm arrived at her side.

“Okay, baby! I’m here.”

He cupped her face with his hands. He looked from Tomas standing on the opposite side of the bed to Marcus, who was beside the doctor. He felt for her pulse.

“She’s alive.” He let out a large sigh of relief. Next, he pulled out his mobile and dialed 9-1-1. He gave out the pertinent details and hung up.

“M-M-M-Malcolm?” asked a small voice.

“Elisa!” Tears fell onto his cheeks as he saw her green eyes were partially open.

She looked at Marcus, still standing near Malcolm.

“No.” Her breathing was shallow. It took her longer to speak, to form the words. “Other. P-priest.”

Tomas sat on the bed beside her, taking her hand in both of his.

“I’m here, Elisa. What is it?”

She laboriously moved her head to the left so she could see Tomas.

“You. It … wants … you.”

Marcus tensed. His gaze moved between Elisa and Tomas as if he was watching a tennis match.

Tomas’ spine stiffened. He could feel a presence in the room. He knew Marcus felt it, too. He didn’t have to look at his partner to know what he was thinking or feeling. He was having those same thoughts and feelings.

Déjà vu.

_Would it always be like this? Assuming I survive each interaction, that is._ _I let the demon in and fight like hell to come back?_ He had done it already so many times. It never got any easier. He knew it never would. His gift. His burden. He chanced a glance at Marcus.

Marcus was more than worried. He was fucking terrified. Elisa’s departed demon did not go down easy and he knew it only left because of whatever it was that had decided the demon was in its way. It had targeted Tomas for a reason. Marcus had no clue what that reason was. He knew both he and Tomas wanted answers. He just did not know if sacrificing Tomas to get them was worth it.

_What am I thinking? Of course, it’s bloody not worth it!_ There would be no sacrifice. Not this time.

Another concern niggled at him. What if this bigger entity (he was not sure “demon” was the right word to describe it) did not want to use Tomas as a host? What if Tomas was merely the stepping stone in a grander scheme?

“Outside. Now,” he told Tomas.

To Malcolm, he barked: “Stay with her and, if necessary, do your job.”

Marcus stalked out the kitchen door and over to the far side of the backyard, as far away from the boarded up guest bedroom windows as possible.

Tomas followed obediently. He expected a fight or at least an argument. He was looking forward to it. Or maybe he just liked that he would get to spend a few stolen moments with the man he loved before going once more unto the breach.

_Once more…_

When he reached Marcus, the older man did not give him a chance to speak. He took Tomas’ face into his hands and kissed him passionately. Tomas responded by sliding one hand around the back of Marcus’ neck and snaked his other arm around Marcus’ waist, feeling the cotton of his sweater as Tomas pushed Marcus towards him. Their lips stayed connected for a few minutes as their tongues caressed, flicked and otherwise eagerly explored the insides of their mouths.

“I know you are going to do this,” Marcus told him after. “I’m not going to stop you. This is part of you who are. Just be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”

They both grinned, recognizing the words from another time.

“Then bring me back.” Tomas gently kissed Marcus, then lightly brushed his lips against his beloved’s.

Marcus placed a kiss on Tomas’ forehead.

As they walked back inside the house, the ambulance was just pulling up out front. Malcolm told them to hide in the shed near where they just were — a few feet away from the dearly departed Cuddles’ final resting place. He would text them from the car once the coast was clear.

A few minutes later, Tomas’ phone buzzed. They were good to go.

The two men re-entered the house and the guest room. Marcus shut the door while Tomas stood in the center of the room. They exchanged one final look from which everything was said.

“Let’s do this,” Tomas commanded to whatever presence was in the room.

A second later he was on his knees. His head was thrown back and his jaw slackened. His eyes had gone white.

“May God have mercy,” Marcus said quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

Marcus stayed outside while Tomas entered the church to look for Pastor Monica. This would be goodbye. Tomas was leaving town tomorrow. He was going to miss this sanctuary. His sanctuary. The meditation had been helpful. So had the intense make out session he just experienced with Marcus. He could not stop the smile from spreading over his features. He ran his tongue lightly over his bottom lip as he thought of how Marcus had done the same thing to that lip not that long ago. Tomas felt a stirring in his groin.

He stopped walking. He was in the small hallway that led to Pastor Monica’s office. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_This is not how to conduct yourself in a house of the Lord._ He felt the pressure in his trousers ease. He opened his eyes. He knocked on the open office door.

Pastor Monica sat at her desk working on her computer. She had her blonde hair in her usual ponytail and was wearing a brown Josh Ritter T-shirt she bought during at a concert during his _The Animal Years_ tour under an open black blazer, light-wash blue jeans and a pair of light blue Chucks. The pastor looked away from her computer screen, happy to see her new friend.

The pastor looked away from her computer screen, happy to see her new friend. Tomas entered and took the seat she offered in one of two chairs in front of her desk.

“It’s time for me to move on,” he told her.

“So soon?” She was genuinely sorry to see him go, but knew his visit to the area would be short.

“Yes. I have an appointment upstate in a couple days that I cannot miss.”

“At a church?”

“No. It’s … a freelance position. But hopefully I can do good there, nonetheless.” Tomas hated lying on principle. He hated it even more that he was lying to a woman who had shown him nothing but kindness.

“I have no doubt you will.” Pastor Monica knew he had his secrets, but respected him enough not to pry. What she said next, she meant with all her heart: “You’re a good man, Tomas.”

Tomas blushed. He thanked her for the compliment and rose to take his leave.

Pastor Monica came around her desk and extended a hand.

“I wish you safe travel. May God bless you and keep you.”

He shook her hand.

“Thank you, Monica. May God bless you and keep you.”

Tomas found Marcus sitting on the front stairs of the church. Marcus stood up when he heard footsteps on the gravel.

“Everything okay?” Marcus asked as Tomas approached.

“Everything’s fine.” He looked back in the direction of the garden, picturing it even though it was obscured by the side of the church.

“Fancy a pint?”

Tomas looked back at Marcus.

“My God, yes.”

 

 

Twenty minutes later, the two men were sitting in a booth at the first bar they came upon. They ordered whatever was on tap as they removed their jackets and piled them in the corner of their respective benches. Marcus parked his backpack under his jacket. Neither said a word nor looked at the other until the beer came. Their server was named Sandy and they could just give her a shout if they needed anything. After she left, they both caught each other’s eye.

“So where are we?” Marcus spoke first. He was leaning forward on his arms as they formed a circle around his mug, his fingers loosely intertwined.

“ _How_ are we?”

They were big questions. Tomas thought about each one for a bit. Then he slid up closer to the table. He reached out and with his left hand, lightly moved his middle finger horizontally across Marcus’ right middle finger. He did this for a while, lost in thought as he did so.

“God told you I’m one of His chosen and as a result, my expiration date might just get pushed up. And you’re here to see that it doesn’t. Does that about cover it?” Tomas continued running his finger along Marcus’, not looking at him.

“No.” Marcus replied with steel in his voice. Tomas was testing him. He would not allow himself to commit until there was something worth the commitment. Marcus was determined to convince Tomas he was worthy of him.

“I _ached_ for you those long months while I was away. At a certain point, if I even thought of coming home to you, I would convince myself there wasn’t any point. You were done with me. And why wouldn’t you be? I had abandoned you with someone you barely knew at a point where you were only beginning to understand your gift — and it _is_ a gift, Tomas. I see that now. I have no doubt Mouse was a wonderful resource, but I should’ve stayed. I should have let you in, not shut you out.

“Part of me wanted you to be able to explore your ability without judgment. I couldn’t understand it, so therefore I reacted like a villager with a torch and pitchfork: ready to condemn something I couldn’t wrap my head around. It’s beautiful and dangerous, what you can do.”

“You should have trusted in the Lord as he entrusted me.”

“No!” Marcus slammed his left hand on the table. Tomas didn’t flinch, didn’t stop sliding his left middle finger across Marcus’ right.

“I should have trusted _you_.”

Tomas’ finger stopped. He kept it on Marcus’ finger as he looked up at him.

“Yes. You should have.”

Tomas sat back in the bench, not taking his eyes off the man sitting across from him.

“We … are on a whole new playing field.”

“I’m done playing.”

"Full transparency." This wasn't a request. This was what Tomas' required from Marcus if this was going to work.

"Full transparency," Marcus agreed. He did not even have to think about it.

They were on the same page.

Tomas visibly relaxed.

“Good. Now we can have some fun.”

Marcus let the tension melt from his body. They understood each other. More importantly, they belonged to each other.

_Thank fucking Christ._ He saw Tomas chuckle.

_Did he --? Are you in my brain, you wanker?_

Tomas’ smile grew while he continued to chuckle. Marcus finally just asked him.

“What?!”

“You make the _weirdest_ faces when you process information.”

“Piss off!” But Marcus wasn’t angry or annoyed. He was smitten. He started laughing in spite of himself.

Tomas was smitten, too. He had been for a long time. Almost from the day he first laid eyes on Marcus Keane.

Much, much later, Marcus would make a similar admission to Tomas.

They finally started drinking their beers, which were now room temperature. Neither of them minded. The alcohol was what they were after. The tension between them had evaporated, replaced with a relaxed intimacy they had not felt for a long time.

As they talked about nothing and everything, they started to notice something disconcerting. The jukebox was consistently playing tunes that were eerily appropriate for their situation. Willie Nelson’s “You Were Always On My Mind” was followed by Paul Young’s “Every Time You Go Away”.

Marcus dismissed it.

“Coincidence. That jukebox is, like, thirty years old, I bet you anything.”

Tomas was willing to go along with that theory. That is until the next song played: Chicago’s “You’re the Inspiration”. It was too much for him. He let out the biggest, longest laugh of his life.

“Fucking hell,” Marcus muttered. “Alright. If we’re going to have to sit here listening to this, we’re going to need something stronger.”

As if on cue, their server Sandy dropped by.

"You guys okay?" She could not help but stare at Tomas, amused yet mildly concerned.

Marcus managed to tear his eyes away from Tomas, who now had his head on the table, his shoulders shaking; his laughter nowhere near abating.

"Two shot glasses and a bottle of your cheapest tequila, if you please."

The server smiled, quickly casting another glance at the hysterical priest.

"You got it."

After she left, Marcus told him: "I can't take you anywhere."

A couple hours, four baskets of boneless buffalo chicken wings, two additional beers and many tequila shots later, any emotional barriers and inhibitions had been laid to waste. Miraculously neither was straight up drunk (four baskets of chicken wings no doubt helped). However, one of them was definitely getting his flirt on.

“Why did we never admit how we felt before now?” Tomas asked.

Marcus now was starting to wonder if Tomas was, indeed, drunk.

"God never gives us more than we can handle."

Tomas leaned forward resting his forearms in front of him on the table after pushing the empty baskets out of his way. He raised an eyebrow.

"Some of us can handle quite a bit."

Marcus enjoyed this side of his partner. He must remember to encourage this more often.

“I _did_ leave for a period. Then again, when God closes a door he opens a window."

Tomas then gave Marcus the sexiest grin he had ever seen. It made Marcus feel things _everywhere_. He had never felt this way about a person — man or woman, it made no difference. It was the most amazing sensation and he felt blessed this gorgeous man deigned him worthy of such emotion.

"So are you coming through that window or should I?"

Within ten minutes, the check had been paid. After another five minutes, their Lyft driver had arrived. Seven minutes later, they had been delivered back to the motel.

Tomas had slunk down enough in the backseat of the car during the ride so he could nuzzle Marcus’ neck and kiss his collarbone while caressing the inside of his lover’s upper thigh, his wrist grazing the outline of Marcus’ cock and one of his balls. Marcus did everything in his power to keep his emotions in check and, yes, it was bloody hard. But then so was Marcus. And Tomas come to that. Marcus said a little prayer when the car pulled into the motel’s parking lot.

Once they got inside the room, Tomas’ mood had changed. He still wanted Marcus — that was not changing anytime soon if the younger man had his way (and he fully intended to have his way). No, his lust had tempered as he thought of those songs that played on the jukebox earlier. He had an idea.

He took off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed nearest the door. He walked over to the night stand between the two beds and switched on the clock radio, scanning the stations for a good song. He found it. The program host was wrapping up a conversation with a caller who had just requested to hear “The Air That I Breathe” by The Hollies. She acquiesced to his request.

Tomas rose from his crouching position and approached Marcus, who was tossing his own jacket and backpack on the same bed, with a hand extended.

Marcus was flattered and nervous. He had never slow danced with anyone before. Yet he did not hesitate but a moment before placing his hand in Tomas’.

Tomas pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around Marcus’ neck as Marcus wrapped his around Tomas’ waist. They slowly swayed to the rhythm of the music.

Marcus rubbed his stubbly cheek against Tomas’. He liked the way Tomas’ beard felt as it brushed his skin. He liked the way Tomas felt in his arms. He had imagined this, literally dreamt of this, during their time apart. This …. This was so much better.

Tomas buried his head into the space where Marcus’ neck and shoulder met. His left hand found its way up the back of Marcus’ neck to his head, where his fingers slid through the other’s hair. He never wanted this moment to end.

They continued to drink each other in as the song and the next two that followed played in the background.

 

 

Marcus sat stock still on the picnic table across the lot from their motel, staring at Tomas in stunned silence. Grief and a simmering anger electrified his blue eyes.

Tomas told him about his crucifixion and of the Marcus doppelgänger. He made sure he revealed what The Figure said to him. Tomas saw the conflicting emotions in Marcus’s face. He knew he could not console him with words alone. Tomas would have to prove it in other ways. He started simply.

“I’m fine. Look.” Tomas showed Marcus his hands, both front and back. There were no marks on them.

Marcus took his partner’s hands in his own.

“I know. I’m more concerned with your emotional and mental well-being. That shit can fuck you up. I don’t want you to survive these trials or whatever, only for you to have a complete breakdown and spend the rest of your life in an asylum.”

“I don’t want that either.”

“I know. I just – I worry. Especially now you’ve gone and told me that thing said next time if you die in his playground you die in real life.”

That worried Tomas, as well. He did not want to die in that manner. He wanted to be in this world when it happened at least.

_Next time._ That also worried Tomas. Perhaps worried undersold it, but he was not looking forward to it. He knew there would be no warning. He would just be gone. Back to that place. Marcus would protect his body. If necessary, he would he handle its disposal. Which reminded him ….

“I need you to know something.”

Marcus started shaking his head, his hands still clasped around Tomas’.

“No. Don’t you dare.”

“ _Listen to me._ ” Tomas spoke in a firm tone. He needed Marcus to hear this. “I have left a copy of instructions in my bag on how I want my body to be handled after I’m gone. I want to be cremated. That’s very important. _No burial_.”

Marcus nodded.

“No burial. Just ash. Got it.”

They embraced. No words were exchanged. No sound could they hear except for the beat of the own hearts against their chests.

A few minutes later, they separated. Marcus put his left hand on Tomas’ right cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Tomas leaned in to it with his eyes closed.

“Next time, no clothes.” He opened his eyes. A slow, sexy smile began to grow. Then it stopped. His body went rigid. His head went back and his jaw slack. His eyes turned white.

Marcus gripped Tomas’ head with both hands and gently pulled it up so he could look at him.

“Tomas? Tomas, can you hear me? I’m here, baby. I have your body. I will protect and care for it. I promise. Just come back to me.”

He felt helpless. Locked out of a room he would never survive, but so desperately wanted to be inside. It then occurred to him there was only one thing to do. He put his mouth against Tomas’ right ear and, in a low but powerful whisper, said everything he could think of to keep his vow.

Marcus would do his damnedest to bring Tomas back.


	11. Chapter 11

Tomas was standing outside a door. He was again wearing his cleric’s uniform, complete with sport coat and collar. He could hear music on the other side of the door. He tried the doorknob; it turned. He let himself inside, slowly walking down the short hallway. He stopped beside the tape player in the living room and turned it off.

_No. It couldn’t be._

He recognized the space. He never thought he would be back here. Not after the events that took place here. In Chicago.

_My apartment. Everything is how it was then._

Tomas marveled at the level of commitment required to recreate the apartment he lived in while he was at Saint Anthony’s.

“We’re out of eggs.” Marcus appeared in the entryway to the kitchen behind Tomas, who spun around at the sound of his voice.

“How did you get in here?”

Marcus smirked.

“I picked the lock.”

Tomas was experiencing a serious case of déjà vu. He and the real Marcus had a similar encounter the second time they came across each other. After Tomas had traveled to Saint Aquinas to seek out Marcus. The private theological hospital was where they first met. It was where the Church sent its damaged priests.

“I was told you left Saint Aquinas after my visit. That was a week ago.”

Marcus walked over to a shelf where framed photos of Tomas with friends and family were displayed. He was wearing the exact same outfit as he did that day.

“Places to go, sights to see. Shedd Aquarium. The big shiny bean in the park.” He cocked his head at Tomas and raised an eyebrow. “Saint Anthony’s of Lawndale.”

Tomas felt his spine stiffen in spite of himself.

“A bit rough around the edges, your parish?” The smirk was back.

“What do you want?”

“To see ‘the rising star’ in action!” Marcus lifted his arms in mock adulation. He took a couple steps forward and leaned in, hands clasped behind his back.

“To be honest, I’m a _little_ underwhelmed.”

“You’re not Marcus.” Tomas dropped the pretense. The corruption of his memories of someone so dear to him left a bitter taste in his mouth and made his heart feel heavy.

“Sure I am! Just look at me!” Marcus gestured at himself from head to toe with a smile reserved only for those who thought very highly of themselves.

“You are too big a dick to be him,” Tomas replied as he started towards the door.

“Thought that’s what you like best about him.”

Marcus was baiting him. Tomas knew this. It did not prevent him from coming to a complete stop halfway between Marcus and the front door. It did not stop the anger from rising up through his chest until it was stuck in his throat, unable to be released or pushed down.

Marcus smiled. He had him. Now that the fish was hooked, he just had to land him. Easy peasy.

“Oh, you haven’t had the _pleasure_ yet. Have you, padre? The flesh is willing, but …. What? Commitment issues? I get that. He bailed on you once, who’s to say he won’t do it again?”

He came closer to Tomas, who stood with his back straight and shoulders squared as he continued to face the door.

“Nah. That’s not it. Are you scared you won’t like it? After all the neck cupping and face touching, once you’re balls deep into each other you’ll have a change of heart? Seriously! No, seriously. I want to know.”

The first punch landed square on the left side of his jaw. The second connected with his right eye. The third and fourth with his ribcage. The final blow came from Tomas’ left knee as it hit the underside of Marcus’ jaw while his head was bowed. Marcus was on the floor before he literally knew what hit him. He already figured out the “who” part.

“ _You_ ,” Tomas pointed at the barely conscious form on the floor, “do not speak about him in that way. You may look like him, but you will _never_ be him.”

Marcus laughed, coughing up a bit of blood as he did. He spat it onto the floor as he pushed himself up in to a sitting position. He looked at Tomas with spiteful disappointment.

"Go home, Father Tomas. Give your homilies and break your bread. Live a long and happy life. You're way out of your depth."

There was that déjà vu again. His Marcus had said the exact same thing to Tomas when he dismissed him at the end of his Saint Aquinas visit. There was meaning in what this Marcus said that gave Tomas pause. He knew this train of thought was right, but he could not work out how. He thought back to that initial meeting.

_What was it I had said after Marcus said those words?_

“You’re afraid.”

From his place on the floor of the apartment, this Marcus sneered up at Tomas.

“You’d be, too, if you weren’t such a sanctimonious twat.”

Tomas crouched in front of the Marcus-shaped form. He had an idea. It might not work. It probably would not work. However, he found himself taken with the thought nonetheless.

_I wonder …._

“Do you remember Gabriel?”

“Who?”

It was gone as quickly as it arrived, but Tomas caught the note of recognition in Marcus’ eyes.

“Gabriel. The boy in Mexico City who was possessed. You performed an exorcism — “

“He died.”

Yes. There it was. Tomas kept going.

“You recited that nursery rhyme to him. Do you remember? ‘There once was a cat, with feet made of cloth ... ‘“

“’And upside-down eyes ...’" Marcus was impressed. “That was eighteen months before I met you.”

“I know. That’s how you knew you could trust me. Even if you didn’t fully admit it to yourself.”

Marcus looked around the living room and back at Tomas.

“I came here after I left Saint Aquinas. Then. Not now.”

“That’s right.” Tomas tried to keep his emotions in check. This was too important to get ahead of himself.

Marcus’ head twitched. He closed his eyes for just a moment.

That was all it took. A moment. Tomas knew it instantly.

The other Marcus was back.

He grabbed Tomas by the throat and threw him against the wall with the small window near the top; the shelf with the mementos exploded against the velocity with which Tomas slammed into it, scattering the debris. Tomas tried to get back on his feet, but Marcus was already there. A punch to the head put Tomas on the floor face down. He felt Marcus grab him by the jacket’s collar and pull him to his feet. Marcus pinned him to the wall, which had a hole where a large piece of plaster had been previously. He brought his face in close to Tomas’ just as the real Marcus had done that day at Saint Aquinas.

“Aren’t you a clever priest. Thought that touchy-feely, ‘love is the drug’ malarkey would work on me. As if.”

Marcus punched him hard in the stomach. Tomas dropped to his knees, coughing. Marcus grabbed a handful of hair and jerked his head back, slamming his fist into Tomas’ face four times before throwing him back onto the floor. Tomas’ body slid a little away. He managed to roll onto his back, which helped his breathing somewhat.

Tomas whispered.

“What did you say?” Marcus asked angrily.

Tomas again whispered, this time a bit louder.

“Jesus said?” Marcus was confused and weary. “And what pray tell did Jesus say?”

"'Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.'"

Marcus chuckled.

“I think I struck you one too many times.” Louder, he added: “You’re confused, mate. _I’m_ the one who will give you rest.”

Tomas’ voice was gaining strength. His past with Marcus was the key to turning him. He was more convinced of this now. Why else the sudden regression after he had come so close a few minutes ago. He had struck a nerve somewhere … with someone … or something. He got up.

“You never gave up something beautiful?” he asked Marcus, betting on the same answer he received back then. He wasn’t disappointed.

“No.”

Marcus was on script.

Tomas smiled.

“Liar.” Tomas grabbed him and gave him the most passionate, deepest kiss he had ever given anyone.

Marcus attempted to fight him off even has he engaged in the act. After a minute or so, he finally succeeded. His breathing was heavy, as was Tomas’. They stared at each for a couple seconds. The separation did not last. They came back together, their lips connecting instantaneously. Marcus’ hand cupped the back of Tomas’ neck while the other grabbed the lapel of his sport coat. Tomas had one arm wrapped around Marcus’ waist with his other hand on his back.

Their lips parted as their foreheads touched.

“This won’t last,” Marcus told him. “It will kill us before it lets you win.”

“I know.”

“He’s lucky. He knows that.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because _I_ do.”

Then Marcus was gone.

And yet he was everywhere.

A fair bit of him was on Tomas, who was at Ground Zero when Marcus exploded.

Tomas took out the handkerchief he kept in a back pocket in his pants and wiped the blood and viscera from his eyelids so he could open his eyes. Then he cleaned off the rest of his face as best he could, dropping the formerly white square onto the floor because there was no way he was laundering that.

The shock was starting to wear off. The event would be trauma-inducing under the best of circumstances. However, Tomas felt no real emotional response outside of a light sadness for the poor soul/demon/whatever that had just exploded in front of him.

Outside of that, he was fucking over it. The trials. The Goddamn hellscape dreamland.

_I want my life and my Marcus and I will end you in order to do it. Let’s get this over with, tú pequeña cucaracha masoquista._

He waited.

_Fuck you. I’m not going to say it._

 

 

Tomas’ body had become spasmodic. His back arched severely. His head jerked violently to one side. His torso folded as if his stomach had been punched. There was coughing. His head threw itself back and again jerked violently to one side, only four times now.

Bruises were starting to appear on his face.

Marcus watched the scene unfold in unmitigated horror. His heart broke and his soul died with every spasm.

“FIGHT, TOMAS!” He urged him with every of fiber of his being and held Tomas’ body in his arms once the spasms ceased. “You can do this, mi valiente guerrero. You have the heart of a lion and a will of iron. God believes in you. I believe in you. Now take that belief and _send that demon back to Hell!_ ”

Marcus had never been more scared in his life. He had seen death occur during possession. He even brought it about once. But this …. This was different. This was personal. As he brought Tomas’ body into his loving embrace, Marcus knew if Tomas did not survive it would be the death of him. Letting in such a flood of emotion as what he felt for Tomas usually gave him a floating sensation. Now he felt as if he was drowning.

But he knew he could not let himself drown in a grief that as yet has no reason to manifest. He _did_ believe in Tomas. If anyone could destroy such a vicious entity, it was Tomas Ortega.

Marcus allowed a wave of hope and love wash over him and, if nothing else through sheer will, into Tomas. As he sat on that picnic table holding the man who was dearer to him than his own breath, Marcus started praying.

Then he started reciting the rites of exorcism.


	12. Chapter 12

Tomas’ blast from the past continued. He found himself inside the nave at Saint Anthony’s. Specifically, in the last pew of the very row he had found a drunk Marcus sitting in after he had been defrocked by the Church. Tomas looked around now from where he sat, fondly remembering his time here while nursing the dull ache that filled his heart. He missed this parish and its people.

Of course, the real Saint Anthony’s had been demolished not long after he and Marcus had left Chicago. Tomas had been offered Saint Bridget’s at one point when he was still considered the Church’s “rising star”, but obviously that never happened.

_You had such promise, Tomas. Yet you threw it all away. And for what? Road trips with a broken-down, ex-communicated exorcist with more demons in his past than those he has exorcised. And do not get me started on the woman. Although, she could prove useful one day. Bennett on the other hand …._

The Figure had materialized without Tomas realizing it. It sat next to him on the pew, looking out at the altar with the large cross on it.

_What about Bennett?_ Tomas asked. Had Bennett been compromised? Turned against God?

The Figure patted Tomas on his knee.

_That is a story for another time. Just know that he is alive._

It turned to Tomas.

_You are rather fascinating. As I said, you gave all this up for a thankless existence. You go from town to town performing exorcisms like they are part of a traveling circus. Step right up! See the faith healers as they rid you of your demons! No evil too big! No possessed too small!_

It chuckled.

Tomas bristled.

_That is not what we do. We help people. We save souls._

_Saving people. Did you save Andy Kim? Did you return him to his loving family of outcasts? No. Your boyfriend shot and killed him._

_That was Andy’s choice._ Tomas was becoming agitated. He tried to remain calm, but it was picking at scabs that had not fully healed.

_He believed it was the only way to save us both._

The Figure considered this.

_Yes. This is true. But think of all the Andy Kims, as well as others whom you could save. The good you could do if you just let go of your baggage and follow my guidance._

Tomas’ eyes narrowed. He did not like where this conversation was going. It would only end badly and he feared out of the two them he would be on the receiving end of a raw deal.

_What are you asking?_

It smiled.

_Why I am asking you to join me, of course. I see a bright future for you, Tomas. You could help so many people. Save so many more souls. Much more than you do now. With the right tools, you could be so effective._

Tomas was not smiling. His suspicions were myriad. He was being led down the garden path. He had been down the path before. With Jessica. They met when they were both at Loyola. They reconnected after she had married and he had become a priest. They had an affair while the Rance family was dealing with their youngest daughter Casey’s possession. Just after he had met Marcus. He had not thought about Jessica in a very long time. He preferred it that way. She was in his past, locked away with other memories from another life.

_No-so-fond remembrances of things past, eh? I cannot blame you. She was not your finest hour. Best to leave her there._

Tomas sighed.

_You said, with the right tools, I could be effective. How so? What tools?_

_Good. Curiosity is very good. You are interested in what I propose then?_

He shook his head.

_Maybe._

The Figure smiled. Tomas hated it when it smiled. He felt sick to his stomach every time it did so.

_Your gift is more powerful than you know. I can teach you to harness its power. To amplify it. More power, more souls saved._

It was too good be true. Tomas knew this, but could not help but be intrigued at the prospect. No. He must not let himself be swayed by this demon. Yes. That is what it was. A demon. A more powerful demon than he had come into contact with in his time as an exorcist. He now could feel the malevolence rolling off The Figure in waves. He knew it was losing patience with him.

Time was running out.

_My God. What is that hum?_ Tomas bowed his head and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had not noticed it before, but now knew it had been there all along. Since he had arrived inside the church. It was not unpleasant, the hum. It was nice. It was comforting, supportive even. He liked how it made him feel.

How did it make him feel?

It made him feel ….

Strong.

He opened his eyes, moving his hand away from his nose. As he did so, he noticed he was wearing a bracelet on his right wrist.

Tomas does not wear bracelets.

Yet he was now wearing a leather bracelet with a Saint Benedict medal attached. He gathered the medal between his left thumb and forefinger, a slow smile on his face.

On one side was Saint Benedict himself; on the other a prayer: “May the holy cross be my light! May the dragon never be my guide! Begone Satan! Never tempt me with your vanities! What you offer me is evil. Drink the poison yourself!”

_Marcus._

The Figure rose from its seat next to Tomas on the pew. It was not happy.

_Your choice has been made I see._

It was now in the center aisle between the pews.

_You continue to give up everything for that man. What has he given you in return?_

Tomas was standing, too.

_You know what he has given me. The same thing I give him freely in return._

_What a waste. You should have died in your beloved church, Tomas Ortega. How about we rectify that little oversight now?_

The walls of Saint Anthony’s began to quake. The stained glass windows began to vibrate.

Tomas could not move his feet. He was rooted to where he stood. He was not helpless, however. The hum in his head was no longer a hum but words. Familiar words being spoken in a very familiar voice. Tomas should have known he would find a way to fight by his side even he could not be with him physically. 

Together in spirit, Tomas and Marcus began the rites of exorcism.

As they continued, The Figure became angrier.

The windows burst one by one, showering glass throughout the nave. Some of the fragments embedded into Tomas’ face and hands, which were raised in holy reverence since he had no book to hold. Blood leaked from his wounds, mingling with the sweat that came with the exertion of keeping up the exorcism. Cracks appeared in the walls and on the floor.

The exorcists remained undeterred. Tomas allowed Marcus’ voice to be his guide. Despite the church crumbling around him, Tomas kept saying aloud the words that were in his head. The words he knew by heart.

The Figure’s anger boiled over into unadulterated rage.

The cracks in the walls splintered as the roof began to shake sending a light rain of plaster cascading down. The floor started to separate at various spots.

Still, the exorcists kept going — though only Tomas’ voice could be heard by the demon.

The church could not take much more. Where the floor was fracturing near him, Tomas could see flames leaping out. He did not stop delivering the rites. It only made him more determined to end this.

The wall to his left blew out sending Tomas through the pews in front of him. He was not knocked unconscious. Perhaps God was monitoring the situation. Perhaps Tomas was stronger than he thought. Either way, he resumed the rites as he staggered to his feet. Marcus’ voice was even stronger now. Whatever happened, he was happy he was not alone.

The Figure was screaming now. Flames shot up directly behind it. Then next to it on its right.

The cross on the altar melted as did the altar into what was left of the floor under it.

Tomas kept one eye on his surroundings as he continued his recitations while the other never left The Figure.

The Figure was in agonizing pain. Its rage growing stronger as its agony escalated.

This time what was left of the pews surrounding Tomas exploded one by one, the wooden splinters landing along the glass shards already embedded in his skin. He was bleeding more profusely now. He felt a stabbing pain in his right leg. He looked down to see a fat slice of wood in the middle of his thigh just above his knee, blood streaming from the entry point and down his leg.

He continued the rites.

Tomas edged closer to The Figure, navigating the floor to avoid the sporadic flames that began flaring up more regularly with no notice as the hot spots began to spread out and multiply.

The roof was going to be the next to go whether by The Figure’s hand or gravity. Tomas sped up his progress across the floor as best he could, the words still pouring out of his mouth.

The Figure was on his knees when Tomas reached him, black ooze spilling out of its eyes. It had no ears or mouth. What he thought he saw regarding the features on its face, he came to see was merely an illusion. Tomas knelt down in front of The Figure, extending his injured leg since he could not bend it, and placed one hand on top of its head as it began to convulse as the other hand remained raised. The words never stopping despite the carnage around them.

Silence.

The fires had ceased.

The structure’s convulsions calmed.

The Figure felt smooth under Tomas’ hand.

A wind blew in from where the stained glass windows once stood. It eviscerated the shape of The Figure, sending its ashes into the air and scattering them throughout the scene.

Sunlight followed. Streaming through, illuminating the space with its warm, yellow glow.

Tomas lowered his arms and closed his eyes.

Marcus’ voice dimmed back into a low hum.

Tomas felt his heartbeat slow. He felt his body relax. He could no longer feel the shards in his face and hands, nor the wood in his leg. His skin was clean; the blood and sweat dispersed.

He was at peace.

He collapsed on the floor of Saint Anthony’s.

He would never see the church again.


	13. Chapter 13

Marcus was still and quiet as he held Tomas on top of the picnic table across the parking lot of the motel where they were staying.

He never stopped holding him despite the cuts appearing on Tomas’ face and hands; the gaping wound on his right leg above the knee; and the blood. Too much blood.

He only stopped reciting the rites of exorcism when Tomas’s body relaxed into his arms.

Marcus did now know whether to be relieved or scared. To be honest, he felt both. He checked for a pulse and found one. It was faint at first, but he felt it steadily gain strength.

Tomas gently nuzzled Marcus’ chest.

Marcus took a deep breath and released it. He lifted his face to the heavens, the tears in his eyes flowing down to his cheeks and beyond.

“Thank you.”

He felt Tomas wrap his arms around his waist. Marcus kissed the top of Tomas’ head as he ran the fingers on his right hand through the man’s black hair at the back of his head. His left arm was around Tomas’ shoulders.

“Marcus,” Tomas murmured into his chest.

“I’m here. Where I belong. I will always be here.”

They stayed that way for a long while. Holding each other. Neither wanting nor willing to let the other go.

Eventually they unwound themselves, separating only physically. Emotionally, they were forever bound. Their two hearts and two souls now forged into one heart, one soul.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Marcus asked gently.

“You happened. You were in my head.” Tomas lifted up his right arm, pulling back the sleeves of his jacket and hoodie to reveal Marcus’ bracelet with the Saint Benedict medal on his wrist. “You were in my heart.”

Marcus looked from his bracelet to Tomas.

“You knew I gave it to you?”

He nodded.

“I found I was wearing it as I was considering The Figure’s offer. After I rejected him, the hum I had been hearing in my head turned out to be your voice. The rites of exorcism.

“I’m here because of you. Because we are stronger together.”

Tomas had tears in his brilliant hazel eyes and a smile on his face.

Marcus matched him, except for his bright blue eyes.

“It was all I could think to do,” he said. “I wasn’t going to leave you. I will _never_ make that mistake again.”

“Gracias, mi amor.”

“De nada, mi amado.”

Tomas and Marcus took a moment to bask in the glow of their love.

“Now tell me what that fucker did to you. You were bleeding all over me a few minutes ago!”

In the moonlight, Tomas could just make out the blood stains on Marcus’ clothing.

“Okay. Okay. I will tell you.”

Marcus sat in rapt silence absorbing every word Tomas spoke about his ordeal. His heart broke as he listened to him describe the scene in the Chicago apartment. When he shifted to the showdown at Saint Anthony’s, his heart swelled with pride as Tomas told of how he had defended what they do; how he turned down The Figure’s offer; and how he kept delivering the rites no matter what The Figure literally threw at him. His blood ran cold when he heard of the physical assault Tomas had endured. He was in awe when he learned of God’s presence in the end.

It took a few minutes for Marcus to absorb it all, as well as to process it. There was one part that bugged him.

“The Figure said, ‘Your gift is more powerful than you know.’ That it could show you how to ‘harness its power. To amplify it. More power, more souls saved.’ It never told you how to do this?”

Tomas shook his head.

“Right after that, I figured out you were with me. Everything went to hell from there. Almost literally.”

Marcus looked away, lost in thought.

“Hey.” Tomas put his right hand in Marcus’ left. He placed his left hand on Marcus’ right cheek, drawing his head back toward Tomas. “We will figure this out, if it is God’s will. Just not tonight.”

Marcus rubbed his cheek against Tomas’ palm and smiled.

“I guess you’ve bought us some time.”

“I guess I did.” Tomas smiled back.

“ _You_ deserve a reward.”

“ _I_ deserve a kiss.”

Marcus leaned in and placed his lips softly upon Tomas’. Then he separated Tomas’ lips with his tongue, slowly sliding it into Tomas’ mouth.

Tomas accepted his reward appreciatively and reciprocated. He cupped Marcus’ neck with both hands, his thumbs resting on either side of Marcus’ face.

Marcus grabbed Tomas by the waist and pulled him as close as possible, which was made a bit awkward by their sitting on top of a picnic table. Not that they cared.

Eventually, Tomas left Marcus’ lips behind and rested his forehead on Marcus’ shoulder. Marcus cupped the back of Tomas’ neck.

“You must be exhausted,” he whispered into Tomas’ ear.

Tomas nodded.

“But I can’t not be near you. Not after everything ….”

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” Marcus held him a little longer before suggesting they head back to their room.

Once inside the room, Marcus made sure the door was locked as Tomas sank onto what was Marcus’ bed. Marcus looked at him for a second before giving him a command.

“Strip down to your knickers.”

Tomas was so far past exhaustion he honestly could not tell if Marcus was serious or if he, Tomas, was delusional.

“Do it.” Marcus ordered.

Tomas stood and did as he was told.

Marcus followed suit. Then, he adjusted the pillows on what was Tomas’ bed so they were propped up against the headboard, one in front of the other. He climbed in, the covers still discarded from when Tomas had left the bed earlier, and placed his folded hands on his stomach while he waited for his lover to join him.

From the foot of the bed, Tomas crawled onto to the mattress and up to Marcus’ chest, which he nuzzled with the top of his head while he not-so-lightly grinded his groin against Marcus’.

Marcus chuckled.

Tomas picked his head up, a huge content smile playing on his features. He crawled up a bit further and gently bit Marcus’ bottom lip, looking up into Marcus’ eyes as he did so.

When Tomas released his lip, Marcus said: “I thought you were tired.”

“I am.”

Marcus’ own smile grew.

“Flip yourself round. Last thing I need is for you to fall asleep during.”

Tomas laughed. He turned himself around as Marcus spread his legs, giving Tomas room to notch himself within. He laid back, his butt pressed against Marcus’ cock, and settled himself on Marcus’ chest.

Marcus wrapped his arms around Tomas’ shoulders. His bare skin touching Tomas’. His fingers lovingly combing through Tomas’ dark chest hair. Marcus could only think of one other thing that would be as glorious as this.

Tomas sighed.

_Finally. I am home._ He looked down at his right hand, which was caressing Marcus’ right leg. (Tomas’ left hand was doing the exact same thing to Marcus’ left leg, for the record.) More specifically, he was looking at Marcus’ bracelet with the Saint Benedict medal that he was still wearing.

“You should have this back. You never know when you might need it.”

Marcus placed his head to the right of Tomas’ in order to get a better look at the bracelet on that lovely wrist.

“It was a gift. Use it well.”

Tomas placed his right hand on top of both of Marcus’ hands, which were resting just over Tomas’ heart.

They fell asleep not long after. They laid as they were, in each other’s arms, for the rest of the night and well into the afternoon.

When Marcus woke, he found himself sans knickers yet Tomas was in the same position as when they dozed off. He also was naked.

“What did you do?” Marcus asked.

Tomas dropped his head back on to Marcus’ shoulder, his face the picture of innocence.

“I told you earlier: ‘Next time, no clothes.’ Besides, I felt as if I had to finish what you started. Twice you had me and you stopped at my underwear. I could not let that happen a third time.”

Marcus laughed.

“I never realized I was such a tease.”

Tomas kissed his neck.

“If you want me, come and get me.”

In one quick move, Marcus had Tomas on his back.

“I still owe you that reward,” he said as his kisses, which started at Tomas’ neck had worked their way down his chest — with all due respect paid to his nipples — until his mouth had reached its intended destination.

Tomas gratefully and happily accepted the honor.

Afterwards, they made love for the first time. Then for a second time. Then a third.

They only left the bed when absolutely necessary.

Three days later, Mouse called.

She had found Bennett.

That was when they finally left the motel room.


End file.
